The Beginning

How can one speak of
the draw, the compulsion
the sounds that the stamping feet
the feathered and belled ankles make
dancing around the cracked bone marrow sucked sacrifice
breasts glistening in the firelight reflecting splattered blood,
ignored for the entrails are sweeter meat
should I even raise the spectre of the tender heart I see
that the priestess hides in her convoluted ceremonies
the heart that is alone with her visions of the dance
and offered to the gods darker than she can envision
should I then expose my soft underbelly to her
before of all these cheering jeering leering acolytes
for her to cut my heart out, and toss to them for snacking
the time and place of our crossing was determined
ere we were born, but the manner of its approach
was chosen by me, but a few moments ago.
if I was to speak of the things I see that lay behind
her words my own soul would be in jeopardy
perhaps this desire to share the pain she tries so hard
to expunge is just the honey on the bait, and tasted
by her other victims before me seconds before
their entrails lay open to the air
for the honeybuzzard to dance on